Braumin looked to Pagonel. “A more difficult target,” he explained, and the mystic nodded.
“But I cannot call forth the power of the sacred stones,” a confused Elysant remarked.
“You need not with such an item,” the Father Abbot explained. “Which is why the Church frowned upon creating them for those not of the Order. And this,” he said, bending low and retrieving one last item from the sack, which was not empty after all, “is among the most precious ever made in this abbey.”
He brought forth a small coffer, and opened it reverently before the woman, who gasped, as did the others. For within the coffer on black silk sat a leather bracer, set with a large and beautiful dolomite, and surrounded by five others.
“It was made for a queen in the fifth century, because she was beloved and ever sickly. But alas, she died before it was finished, and so it has remained, locked away, in the lower chambers of St.-Mere-Abelle these four hundred years.”
He glanced again at the mystic. “Pagonel feared that for all of your hard work, he simply did not have enough time to properly toughen you against the blows you will surely face.”
He picked up the bracer and dropped the coffer, then took Elysant’s right arm and tied the item about her wrist.
The small woman’s jaw dropped open. She felt the magic, apparently, and to the others, she seemed sturdier somehow.
“Saint Belfour had such sacred dolomite sewn into his robes,” he explained.
“It is a precious gift,” Sister Elysant said, her voice barely a whisper, so overwhelmed was she. “I cannot…”
“Keep it well,” said Braumin. He hugged her tightly, then stepped back. “All of you,” he said. “These gifts I entrust to you. Let them remind you of the importance of this journey you are soon to take. I do not give them lightly!”
The three women nodded solemnly, and Braumin knew that they understood the weight of the responsibility he had put upon tem, and the trust he had shown in them.
He was taking a great chance here, he knew. If this group, this legionem in primo, was waylaid and defeated on the road, then his doubters and enemies in the Church would be bolstered greatly, and so his hopes for Reformation could fast dissipate.
But he believed in Pagonel.
And, he knew in looking at these disciples of the saints, he believed in these extraordinary young sisters.
The meetings the next day between the members of the Church leadership had begun quietly, but as those who opposed Father Abbot Braumin came to believe that they were under no threat of retribution, the discussions became more and more contentious.
Braumin listened more than he spoke, and realized as the arguments raged that his proposed changes would only hold if they brought very positive results in short order.
He nodded through every point raised by those supporting him, and opposing him. He was no dictator here, and given the disruption to every abbey and chapel, now was the time for the brothers to air their every concern and let their opinions be known.
In the back of his mind, through every shout and growling response, Father Abbot Braumin reminded himself that the pile of red chips, for a man who had not even attained the rank of Abbot, was substantial, and that he was the Father Abbot of all the Abellican Church, not just those who had supported his ascension.
He grew concerned, however, when he looked over at Master Arri and Sister Mary Ann. He had thought to take care of that messy business initially, before the two sides had dug in their respective heels, but then had reconsidered. He glanced over at Arri then, and offered a reassuring nod, for he understood that now the animosity was palpable, and that many of his allies would support him regarding the two monks from St. Gwendolyn-by-the-Sea even if they disagreed.
“My brethren,” Braumin called, and he banged the heavy gavel down upon the wood, demanding the attention of all. When the room quieted, he continued, “Particularly since we are considering the matter of so many sisters entering the Order, perhaps we should now discuss the disposition of the one abbey where such was not uncommon. To begin the matter, and since St. Gwendolyn is emptied of her brothers and sisters, I nominate Master Arri to the rank of Abbot.”
“Perhaps we should adjudicate the matter of Sister Mary Ann first,” Dusibol remarked — Abbot Dusibol, who had been promoted that very morning.
“Arri is the obvious choice,” Braumin countered. “He has never held any mark against him, is well known among the supporters of Avelyn, and would seem to be the only remaining Master, if not the only remaining monk, other than Sister Mary Ann, of the abbey! Do you intend to oppose the nomination, Abbot?”
Abbot Dusibol held up his hands in surrender and gave a slight shake of his head. He would not oppose the nomination, were it now or the next day, Braumin knew. None would. But to promote Arri before the decisions were brought upon the wayward sister would afford the man tremendous influence in that trial.
And so a fourth Abbot joined the ranks of Braumin Herde, Haney, and Dusibol soon after, and a fifth followed closely, when, to Braumin’s dismay, the contingent from St. Honce selected Ohwan, a man who had been the choice of Marcalo De’Unnero! Father Abbot Braumin would have fought that choice, except that the large contingent from St. Honce had been united on the choice, and were not without allies from the other abbeys and chapels, particularly the myriad chapels from southern Honce-the-Bear, all closely connected to the great city of Ursal.
Braumin Herde wasn’t surprised, but the easy ascent of Ohwan served as a poignant reminder to the Father Abbot that those who believed in the vision of De’Unnero had not all died that fateful day in the fight at St.-Mere-Abelle. Now the Father Abbot would have a man who had been loyal to De’Unnero serving as Abbot of the second most important abbey of the Church, just down the lane from the palace of King Midalis in the largest and most important city, Ursal.
“So what of my abbey, Father Abbot?” Abbot Arri asked a short while later. “Will you grant me a force to go and reclaim it?”
“The group is on the way,” Braumin replied. “The three sisters you witnessed in battle last night, along with one of our most promising brothers. They will return to us the information we need to properly reclaim St. Gwendolyn.”
“I would begin rebuilding my abbey now, from this place, if I may,” said Arri, and Braumin nodded.
He looked to Mars, who held his breath. He had renounced De’Unnero to the Father Abbot, though Braumin wasn’t convinced. Still, considering what had just happened regarding St. Honce…
“I would bring my brother back to St. Gwendolyn,” Arri suggested. “Master Mars.”
Father Abbot Braumin looked around, and the most disconcerted look he saw coming back at him was from his dear friend Viscenti (who, like Braumin, was far from convinced of Mars’s loyalty to this current incarnation of the Church).
“I ask, too, that we four Abbots retire to private quarters to determine the disposition of Sister Mary Ann,” said Arri.
“No!” someone called from the back. “It is a matter for all of us!”
Many arguments erupted immediately at that, but above them came the demand of Abbot Arri, “This would be a matter for my abbey alone, were it properly staffed. As it is not, I would ask for a quiet place of reason and justice, among the Abbots alone. It is my right.”
More shouts came back, but Father Abbot Braumin slammed his gavel to silence them. “It is Abbot Arri’s right.”
He adjourned the meeting immediately and the five retired to a smaller room, where Braumin bade Sister Mary Ann to speak on her own behalf.
He loved the fire the woman showed! She would not back down and would not deny the truth: that she was in love with a Samhaist priest.
“And where does this love place your loyalties with regard to our Church?” asked Abbot Dusibol pointedly. “Surely you are demanding excommunication!”